APH UsUk Longing
by DarkmoonSigel
Summary: First published on Deviant Art. No beta. All mistakes are my own. Colonial America is kidnapped by Spain. It is left up to Pirate England to save him. More of a family style fic than yaoi though there are so hints of it in the last chapter but nothing pedo.
1. Chapter 1

APH USUK Longing

Alfred climbed up the narrow rocky path that led to the cliffs over looking the ocean. It was a fantastic spot towering high above the surf with gnarled ancient trees whose roots clung to the cliff like giant earthbound sentinels clawing at the rock face to challenge the great expanse of water before them. The crisp scent of salt tingled the nose, carried on the breezes and winds the came in off across the sea. The world before the small nation seemed brighter here the sun reflected sharply back off of pebble beaches, white capped peaks of foamy surf, and sheer bold rock cliffs.

Alfred loved it here, not for the wide beauty though. It was the best place to wait and watch. He loved to climb those huge gangly trees to the top most branches, that threatened to yield under his growing weight now, a concern he had not had before.

Alfred did this now as he kicked off his hated shoes(seriously why did England make him wear those. His bare feet were way more efficient) and swung himself up with sure handholds and quick nimble feet until his golden head popped out above the canopy, scaring some unsuspecting birds who scolded him noisily as they flew away. Alfred turned his sky blue eyes toward the sea to view the wind torn brine that lay expansively before him, the white capped waves rolling on and on until they were lost to the endless horizon. They were the bars to his unseen cage.

Alfred knew somewhere across the dizzying expanse of undrinkable water was England, someplace so very far away in his own land. He knew England came from somewhere, the elder being like him, a country as well though much, much older than him. It was just the thought of other lands lying beyond the water besides his own was almost too surreal for Alfred to handle or think about…..like magic almost, or a fairytale. He would try hard to imagine it especially late at night when he knew he should be asleep. Alfred would try to piece images of it together in his mind based solely on descriptions from stories England had told him and pictures he had seen in story books. He always found the vision he came up with disappointing…..lacking something. Alfred knew England came from somewhere apparently very wet, rich, and green, very green. He would get to that part of the description and flake out though, enamored with thoughts of England's eyes, the color of life itself. Alfred had never seen eyes like England's before, their color, their depth, their clarity, the was they shifted color based on his moods. The dark green of sorrow broke Alfred' s heart, made him want to comfort his mentor, do anything for him. The acid green of his anger chilled him though it was rarely ever directed at him…..well, maybe once or twice over the loss of a favorite tea cup or embroidery project. The color Alfred lived for though was the sparkling mixture of spring greens and emeralds of joy that made the younger nation's heart leap and his skin tingle in a way he didn't understand yet.

Alfred's summer eyes scanned the water carefully. He tried to come here everyday, ever since he had met England. He came here to look for his ship, to catch first sight of him so that he could be the first thing Arthur saw when he docked at port. He did this so that he could welcome his beloved keeper with open arms that never wanted to let him go. Alfred continued to watch the water, eyes traveling across the length of it, searching, hoping for anything. After an insurmountable amount of time(especially for a small boy) the little country sighed in disappointed, seeing nothing.

Alfred missed England, missed him painfully, with every fiber of his small being it seemed. Alfred understood, at least tried to anyway, that he had to go, but it didn't mean he had to like it though. It was so lonely and boring here without England. The people he had left here in his lands were nice enough, a little weird, but nice and took care of him, but it wasn't the same. No one here could cook as well as England, and Alfred was quite put out for some scones and other delicious foods.

Alfred leaned back against the tree pouting at his lack of burnt baked goods, glaring at the ocean as if it was to blame, his own personal prison guard. He could faintly hear them now if he tried, those people buzzing softly in his head, replacing some of the ones that had been there before. England's people were slowly becoming his people…..more and more every time a ship came here. People looking for something…..something England could not give them. Alfred mouthed a word, breathed it out but gave it no sound or form. He needed to understand it more, what they wanted from him, what they were seeking. Alfred liked how the word tasted though, how it sat on his tongue. It made his head feel light and his heart beat fast. He didn't know why, but it made him excited.

It wasn't just England people either. It was all different sorts of strangers who spoke in odd tongues, making their way in and settling down in his lands as well. It made other parts on Alfred's body itch and twitch, letting him know that more and more people, newcomers from all over it seemed, were arriving, wanting to become part of him, their hopes, dreams, and desired gleaming in the night sky of his mind like brilliant stars. Alfred had been particular aware of movements in Florida for a while now, much to his own personal embarrassment. He had gotten into the habit of carrying a book around with him or a hat.

Alfred had been growing for a while now though, constantly getting bigger. He had found himself one day, seemingly overnight, unable to fit into his dressing gown and had to outfitted with new(and very uncomfortable in his opinion)clothing and even worse, shoes. Alfred could not understand why as a baby he had been allowed to run around the wilderness completely barefoot, but now had to wear those infernal toe pinching contraptions that were more hindrance that help. It was ridiculously unfair. Alfred missed his comfortable, airy, easy-to-move-in dressing gown as well. The small nation was currently sporting knee breeches(too tight-Florida needed to breathe), a button down blue cotton shirt(too itchy), a black vest and thin silk black tie(seriously, what purpose did those serve) and of course his ultimate nemesis, shoes(which were currently at the base of the tree and even then rarely worn, much to the despair of his keepers).

Since he was older now, Alfred was trying to stay out of trouble to make England happy, but there was just so much to do and explore. There were animals to play with, caves to discover, and wide plains of land just begging to be traveled beyond the mountains. After England would leave and he was confident he would not be back for a while, Alfred would disappear into those dark woods to walk across flower filled fields, sparkling streams, mist filled valleys, and rolling hills, becoming more and more familiar with himself. It was fun and excited, but at the same time, incredibly lonely. Alfred always found himself returning to the edge of the sea, toeing the water.

Alfred stood up on the branches precariously, bouncing from the sudden action. He balled up his little fists, holding them tightly to his quaking sides. It was happen every once in a while. A huge wave of loneliness would cave and crash upon the shore of his calm, engulfing him in a chilling embrace of trembling solidarity, leaving him feeling weak, crying, and frightened. His fear, his greatest fear that lurked in his heart of hearts, was that England would forget about him, the country far across the sea and never return to him…..out of sight, out of mind…forever gone.

Alfred could feel his narrow chest tighten up as his head grew hot and fuzzy. His eyes hurt now from him squinting back tears that threaten to blind his sight. "England! England! Come back!", Alfred yelled loudly, having the sudden strange idea that if he somehow yelled loud enough, England would hear him all the way from across his watery cell walls, all the way to the mysterious green island itself.

"England, please come back! You have to come back!"

Alfred yelled himself out, until his head hurt and his throat was hoarse, staring back onto a cold and empty sea. Alfred sat back against the branches crying, his tears picked up and carried back out to the ocean on the wind.

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Arthur hated them, hated them all, the other nations. The slender blonde island nation huffed angrily to himself as he walked down the streets of London toward the port, people scurrying out of his way quickly, unnoticed in his personal rage.

All the other nations did was make fun of him, fight with him, and hate him. It seemed to Arthur that they like nothing more than to team up on him, especially that wine bastard, France. That disgusting pervert was a constant thorn in his side, simply for the sheer joy of it.

Arthur had been having numerous problems with his brothers as well and that bitch Ireland wasn't helping matters any. It seemed his own family was out to get him, but that was business as usual. Arthur simply wouldn't know what to do with himself if he didn't receive curses on a regular basis from them. Fuck all, he was sick of it, sick of every mangy twat that irritated his very existence. He was starting to feel ground down, like too little butter spread out over too much bread.

The nation moved wearily toward his waiting ship, his ultimate goal presently, his salvation almost in sight, ignoring the hustle and bustle of the busy port. Arthur longed to see America again, his precious treasure, his sweet child. America was always so kind to him, greeting him with warm smiles, tight hugs, and endless adoration. It was like a healing balm to Arthur's battered soul…..or a drug, the darker parts of his mind whispered. He had done nothing to merit this love, but now it seemed could not live without it, the very idea of returning to America was already lifting his spirits. Arthur wanted nothing more that to bury himself in that love, cover himself in it from head to toe until it left his being numb with bliss. He knew it was wrong to put so many of his needs on this small unsuspecting country. He even admitted to himself it was selfish and stupid to expect so much for one being especially one so young and innocent, but Arthur needed him, wanted all of him, all of his endless love. He felt like he couldn't breathe without it. Arthur's presence was still greatly required here, but he couldn't take it anymore, wanted to escape on silver sails and wide open waters with a good wind at his back like he had done so often in the past.

Arthur decided in his haste to return to America to take his most beloved ship, the Bloody Rose, which had at one time been the most feared pirate ship to ever sail the seven seas. She was still a beautiful vessel, made all of polished black wood with a weeping angel as its figure head, though her crimson sails had been changed out long ago for white. Arthur's pirating day were long over and done with, him being a gentleman now and had to set an example for his young charge. He loved being on this ship though, the energy it brought back to him, the memories of him being a pirate king, the unofficial ruler of the sea and all those who dare travel upon it.

Though the Rose was small, she was as fast and agile as a rapier and had been the bane of Spanish brigeons for decades, cutting a path of blood, gunpowder and fire through the armada itself. She was still a legend in ports and taverns, the rich and bloody tales still told about the nightmare ship with scarlet sails said to be dyed in the blood of her victims, and piloted by a merciless captain who many claimed had ice water for blood and a soul blacker than the depths of the ocean. A man so vile that it was whispered he could not die and that Old Hob had kicked him out of hell himself for fear the pirate would take over. Arthur personally liked the tale of where he married a mermaid, fought with Poseidon himself to a standstill, and captured a typhoon to keep as a pet…all in one day.

Arthur chuckled to himself over the absurd notions, though part of him was sad, knowing that one day the stories, all of them, would fade and pass from the minds and memories of mortal men eventually. If any did survive, they would become so warped they would be unrecognizable to him, much like the legends about his poor king, Arthur and his old friend and mentor, Merlin. Arthur still grew wistful though at a particularly passionate telling of his adventures and conquests, always preferring to listen instead of adding to them. People did that enough on their own.

Arthur took his position at the wheel, and gave the final orders to his crew to depart. He took a deep cleansing breathe of salt sir, enjoying the tingle and burn of the mineral on his nose, reveling in the scent of the ocean, his long time friend and companion. It was the smell of freedom to him, of adventure.

It was time to return.  
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Alfred sat in his tree for a long time afterward, until his tears dried up and his head started to feel clear and normal again. He distracted himself further by imagining he was an eagle, chasing after some very put out squirrels as he jumped gracelessly from branch to branch after them. The squirrel mocked him loudly in his failed attempts, pelting Alfred with acorns for his efforts.

Something caught his attention though out of the corner of his eyes, making the little country scramble back to the top of the tree. It was a ship, definitely a ship. Alfred felt a wave of intense excitement as he bounced haphazardly up and down on the thin branches. Something was bothering him about the ship though. Alfred stilled himself, to get a better look. The ship….appeared…wrong. It was bigger that anything Alfred had seen England ever sail in. It looked like a fat cow on the water, the vessel large and bulky. England's ships fairly skipped over the water. This vessel seemed to trudge. Also….it was coming from the wrong direction. England's boats always came from the east. This boat was sailing up from the south. Lastly the flag was all wrong. It was red and white like England's but instead of a centered red cross on a white background, it had two jagged red diagonal line crisscrossed upon a white field. Alfred didn't know a lot of countries, so he certainly didn't recognize this one. He was pretty sure it wasn't France though. England had repeated warned him about the dangers of other nations, and had firmly told him to avoid them, but curiosity won out over caution as he watched the strange ship dock below, strangely enough not at port.

The little nation climbed down the tree, ignoring to put on his shoes, and made his way down quickly to investigate who had come to his shores so unexpectedly.


	2. Chapter 2

Alfred started to have second thoughts as he drew nearer to the strange tanned men with dark hair and flashing dark eyes. They had left their giant galleon out on the water to come ashore on much smaller boats, busily pulling them up on the pebbly beach. They were being instructed by one man in particular that stood out from the group to Alfred as he peeked carefully through the underbrush. The man was tall and lean with a mop of curly chocolate brown hair that hung loosely around his head. He spoke in a pleasant yet firm voice in a flowing fast language that Alfred had never heard before. He and his men wore strange bright clothing with armor over it in a much different style than Alfred had ever seen England wear, and while they all had swords, they also carried weird long handled axes as well. Their leader's armor and clothing, though similar, was far more ornate with intricate scrollwork and decorations.

England had warned Alfred about talking to other nations, telling him repeatedly that they were dangerous and untrustworthy especially ones beginning with the name France, France, and oh yeah, that wine bastard France. This guy didn't look like France though or any of his people. Alfred chewed his lip in thought. On one hand, the strangers weren't doing anything, and just seemed to be looking around a bit. They didn't seem mean, but on the other hand, they were trespassing and England would be furious if Alfred talked to them.

"You can come out now chico. There is no use hiding. We can feel out our own kind.", the tall dark man suddenly said in a calm, almost bored tone as he turned to face Alfred's direction. Alfred stood up slowly from the bush, blushing in embarrassment at his discovery and general lack of experience, though he realized the truth of the statement, an odd pressure upon his own head, not painful, just mildly uncomfortable. It was similar to how he felt when England came to visit. It faded soon enough with constant presence though.

The man….no nation moved toward Alfred slowly, his men following closely behind him. Alfred backed up nervously further into the forest, ready to rabbit. The nation stopped abruptly to shoo his men back from them, sending them quickly to stand by the boats with a few smooth commands. He knelt down to Alfred's level slowly, pointedly setting his weapons aside from him out of reach. "I will not harm you chico. I just want to talk to you. You are the New World, aren't you?", the nation said gently in a slightly awed tone as he sat back in a more relaxed position. Alfred blinked in surprise at the odd title, nodding. Though it was used for both his twin what's-his-face and him, Alfred still found it disconcerting, like he wasn't living up to his title or something, though he did like the idea of being a whole world unto himself.

Alfred knew he should leave now but the nation wasn't being mean, or even threatening, having disarmed himself. He actually seemed more interested in taking a nap then continuing their conversation as Alfred watched him lie back on the beach, letting his head rest back on crossed arms. Alfred deemed it ok to sit down where he was as well. "I'm America. Who are you and what are you doing here?", Alfred answered carefully, a little proud of himself for using his formal title just like England had taught him to.

"Oh no, do you not recognize me, principito? I am Spain. It was I who discovered you first and it is I who has been here the longest with you. I thought it was about time you and I met and became good friends.", Spain said smoothly, gesturing the little nation over to sit down next to him.

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Spain tried to contain his excitement. He hadn't expected to find America so easily. It was beginning to look like no one would have to die.  
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"Would you like some churros?", Spain offered, producing the sweet fried treat seemingly from air. Alfred had no idea what a churro was, but his beautiful eyes sparkled at the sudden sight of food as the smell of cinnamon sugar wafted over to him. He came to the glutton's conclusion of anyone who offered free food couldn't be all bad. Alfred ran over to sit crosslegged next to Spain who grinned down at him as he happily munched on his treat.

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Spain truly hadn't known what to expect when he had come seeking America. France had repeatedly told him the tale of the newly found infant choosing a sorrowful England over exquisite French cooking, much to his disbelief and distaste. Spain had not been able to envision what kind of nation would do that. He certainly hadn't expected to find such a beautiful innocent child, especially one raised by England. It almost made him feel bad.  
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"Are you friends with England?", Alfred asked, cheerfully nomming on the delicious churro. The little nation was so focused on his treat he completely missed the look of disgusted contempt that swept fleetingly across Spain's face.

"Si. England and I go way back.", Spain answered carefully. Alfred carefully licked the greasy cinnamon sugar off of his finger in deep thought.

"Do you know where England is?", Alfred asked hopefully, looking up at Spain now with wide sky blue eyes. He noticed finally that Spain had green eyes to, though after some thought, Alfred decided he liked England's better. Spain's were darker and almost dull compared to the fiery emeralds Alfred was used to.

"Si and Si. Why chico?", Spain laughed.

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He had made damn sure to know of England's whereabouts and business before taking on this endeavor.  
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"He hasn't been back in a while…", Alfred admitted slowly, his tone colored by unguarded worry. Spain stared down at the wistful sad expression of the little country's face, amazed and perplexed by it.

" All this for that miserable pirate?", Spain thought as he scratched his cheek irritably. "I am not surprised though. He won't be back for a long time chico. England is involved in numerous wars and conflicts right now.", Spain told him to America's immediate horror.

"England is in trouble?!", Alfred looked up at him shocked. Spain laughed, partly to cover up his shock over the boy's touching concern.

"Si and no. If I were you, I would not expect him back.", Spain shrugged dismissively.

"I have to go save him then. I'm strong!", Alfred yelled, hopping up to point his finger vaguely up at the sky. Spain glanced up, seeing nothing. He looked back at the small country still unexplainably holding the pose, and wondered if he had problems like Romano…or was just 'special' like Poland….

"You want to…save England? Mi Dios, why?", Spain asked, trying desperately to keep the spite out of his voice over the absurd notion.

"Because…he needs me….", Alfred finished awkwardly, blushing as he dug little circles into the pebbles with the tip of his bare toe.

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Spain could not believe his good fortune. His luck was finally turning around. Not only had God delivered America straight to him, he had gift wrapped him as well.  
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"Well chico…..I could take you to him.", Spain said smoothly, a genuine smile growing on his face as the lie fell smooth as glass from his lips. America blinked in surprise at the offer. He had never been on a boat before not even England's. That was tempting in of itself. England had told him all sorts of tales about his many exciting adventures at sea, of his saving damsels in distress, finding treasure, and saving the day from dreadful pirates. Best of all, Alfred could finally go see England's own land for himself, not just look at dull little pictures in fairy tale books. He could finally see what was so great about it that it made England leave him all the time and won't England be surprised to see him as well.

But on that same thought, England had told him never, ever to go off with strange nations, especially ones beginning with the name France, France, and oh yeah, that perverted frog, France.

Spain seemed nice but something was starting to bother Alfred now that he was thinking about England's ocean adventures. In most of them he was not fighting France, he was fighting someone else…..

The other forgotten men began to shuffle nervously about to Spain's answering over-the-shoulder glare, their strange fast language tingeing the background as Alfred processed the offer and his thoughts with all his little nation concentration and accumulated experience.

The name…the name was bothering him. He HAD heard it before…..Alfred was sure of it….It was desperately trying to catch onto something in his mind…connect somewhere….

"What's your name?", Alfred asked hazily, rubbing his head hard trying to manually work the thought out.

"I am Spain chico. Did you forget already?' Spain laughed in response.

"No, your other name.", Alfred asked, getting the oddest feeling that started to nibbled at his gut.

"Antonio Fernandez Carriedo at your service.", Antonio answered grandly wishing to move things along as he gave a low mock bow.

Alfred's baby blues widened as his mind finally made the connection. "Pirate.", he whispered, backing away from the still seated nation.

"I prefer conquistador actually.", Antonia grinned back lazily.

This nation was the bad pirate from England's stories, the one who constantly attacked him. England has always called him 'that damn Spaniard' or Toni in the stories though. He was most definitely not a friend. Alfred turned quickly and started to run toward the tree line as fast as his legs could carry him. All he had to do was make it to his woods and then no one could catch him. Or so he thought, that notion being his last conscious thought as Alfred was suddenly struck from behind. The little nation fell over heavily, the back of his head oozing blood from the little wound the slung stone had made. Antonia calmly walked over to the unconscious nation, his sling still in hand, shaking his head sadly. "Lo siento, chico, but you are coming with me.", Antonio told him, picking the boy up gently.

"Vamos.", he yelled to his crew, waving them toward the ship, his prize in hand now. They would have leave immediately for St. Augustine to re-supply and add reinforcements before they left for his land. "It looks like Boss Spain has another henchman. You will make a good companion for Romano. I know he gets lonely when I am gone too long as well and maybe some of your cheer will rub off on him.", Antonio chuckled as he stroked at strands of sunshine hair and creamy cheeks. Antonio wished he could see England's face when he realized he had lost the New World to him. Life was so sweet and revenge was sweeter still.

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Arthur came to dock quite pleased with himself. With his maritime skill and the Rose's capability, they had made the journey from England in about four weeks, a blazing speed in those days. After giving some orders to the crew, Arthur departed to find a group of very nervous people on the dock waiting for him. What he did not see with them was America, the usually present nation noticeably missing. "Where's America?", Arthur snapped to the closest man whom he vaguely recognized as the town's spokesman, not bothering with any form of greeting or courtesy. When it came down to brass tacks, he could give two damns about these people.

"Your Grace….", the man started quietly, fumbling with the brim of his hat.

"Sweet bleeding Jesus, spit it out already man.", Arthur snapped, the pit in his stomach growing deeper and filling rapidly with worry.

"Begging your pardon Grace, but…..he's been missing.", the man finally mumbled out under the intense acid green gaze that threatened to melt his soul.

"Missing!? What in blazes!? What do you mean missing?!", Arthur growling, stalking closer to the group that shuffled back in unison.

"Kidnapped we think, we do, your Grace.", the poor man yelped, "The same day he went missing, there was a ship spotted leaving toward south. When the little bit didn't show up for dinner, we figured it was too much of a coincidence, your Grace. He had always been real sharpish about showing up for supper that one."

Arthur felt like he was going to faint from panic and numerous other emotions that forcible rolled through him as he gripped the rough side of the dock with white knuckles. It could be anyone then….any country….who would dare? The frog? Did he already tire of just having Canada? No, something was nagging him…..he had to calm down and focus…one problem at a time….

Arthur took a deep breath and made himself stand up straight. "Which direction did you say they left in?', he made himself ask calmly.

"Well that is the kipper. They left southward. Couldn't make hide or hair of it myself.", the spokesman rambled.

"I can. Damn that Spaniard. There will be blood for this.", Arthur swore, turning his eyes toward the ocean as an old song began to sing in his heart again.


	3. Chapter 3

Antonio leaned against the railing quite pleased with himself. Everything was going so smoothly for him right now. First, he and his men had not had to sneak into the town or even confront anyone, leaving the English claimed land unnoticed. Secondly, America had basically just presented himself to them alone and totally unaware of their true intentions, and now they had a good wind at their back and would be at the fort of St. Augustine within a day or two at the most. Life could not get much better that this.

Antonio could just see them all now in his land together, him, his little Lovi, and America. He had not originally intended to keep the little blonde nation, but his plans were starting to rapidly change. The loss of America's avatar would significantly weaken England's claim on him until the English would give up their colonies all together and leave the rich fertile land to the Spanish who had claimed in rightfully so from the very beginning. Previously, Antonio had been planning on ransoming the boy back to England for an exuberant price but now he wanted it all. The pieces were falling into place and it was becoming more and more feasible with each passing day unhindered by any English interference. If he could get America within the heart of his land and keep him there, the Englishman's fortune would curl in on itself like the corpse of a spider to a candle flame. A claim on a land was one thing, but to have that country's personification was another matter entirely. He who controlled the heart of the land, controlled the land itself. Antonio was going to make himself great again and America would help him do just that.

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Alfred woke up painfully on a pile of cushions, shuddering from the sharp pain in the back of his head. Small pale fingers gingerly touched a blood encrusted gash surrounded by matted hair. He winced as he felt the lumpy, oozing wound, drawing back crimson wet fingers. "Where am I?", Alfred though warily, his eyes adjusting to the dim room as he slid woozily off of the bedding. Alfred promptly threw up onto the wooden floor and a bit on himself, his inner balance greatly disturbed as he felt himself rock. It took him a moment to realize it was not him that was rocking but the room itself. "I'm on a boat!", Alfred yelped, suddenly remembering earlier events. Wiping his mouth off with the end of his stained shirt, he looked around the room, still feeling nauseous but luckily his stomach was too empty now to produce any more bile.

It was a small room illuminated poorly with weird circular windows. Alfred stood up on his tiptoes to peek out one of them, blurrily seeing nothing but flat ocean. Alfred slunk down to his knees, wrapping his thin arms around them as he looked around the room again in shocked panic, having re-affirmed his present state. The walls were covered in strange maps to places Alfred didn't recognize. He started to wish he had paid more attention to England when he had tried to explain maps to him before and more importantly, how to use them. There was also a desk, bolted to the floor with a clever chair that hooked into the sides so that it would not slide about. Multiple little metal doors in desk were for storage, Alfred finding all of them locked much to his disappointment. More investigation found several heavy chests, also locked. Various articles of clothing were messily strewed about around the room. There was also a door.

A door was good. Those often led to more interesting places.

Alfred made his way uneasily toward it. The movement of the ship was throwing off his body's most normal and basic functions of walking upright, and in a straight line. He found the door unlocked, cracking it to peek out. Sunshine flooded in, blinding him momentarily by its sheer overwhelming brightness. It felt so warm though, and helped Alfred focus as his eyes adjusted. He saw men, the men who had been with Spain and many others he didn't recognize, moving busily about doing various tasks-tying lines, mending nets, cleaning all the while talking in their strange fast language. No one seemed to be looking in his direction so Alfred slipped out to hide behind some boxes of strapped down cargo, making his escape as he went from box to box, until he reached the railing pressing his small frame up against it to see the same thing he had seen before, nothing but vast water as far as the eye could see, shimmering in the high sun like mirrored glass. Alfred's breathe caught in his throat as waves of dizziness and panic passed over him. Even if he threw himself over, where could he go? Where was his land? An even better question was, how would he make it there? Alfred didn't know how to swim, another thing he should have paid more attention to when England had tried to show him how. Learning to swim had seemed like a trick to make him take a bath though and he had resisted all efforts until England had finally given up in frustration. Alfred started to realize the dire situation he was in as his small hands began to tremble.

"And where do you think you are going, chico?", said a highly amused voice from behind him, quite close. Alfred quickly turned around too fast for his own good, his legs and head giving up as he fell to his knees dry heaving. A strong hand steadied him as the small nation tried to breathe.

"Careful. It takes time to adjust to the motions of the ocean.", Antonio said soothingly, taking his time to stroke at sparkling golden hair. Alfred glared up at him, jerking back from his touch.

"Where am I!? What am I doing here?! Take me back now!", Alfred demanded, making himself stand up. He would not show weakness to his enemy. He would be strong like England. Antonio raised a dark eyebrow at him unimpressed.

"Don't you know? You are mine now. I am taking you back with me to my lands of sunshine and tomatoes.", he said cheerfully, leaning back against the railing. Alfred stared back up at him wide eyed with shock, trying to grasp the concept and failing miserably.

"…..But…..I belong to England.", Alfred stammered, falling back a step from the older nation. Antonio shrugged dismissively.

"Not anymore. You are going to be my new henchman.", Antonio informed him with a satisfied grin. He really liked how the word 'henchmen' sounds to him. His happy thoughts were cut short though.

"NO! No, I'm not! I belong to England!", Alfred yelled back, his fists clenched at his sides, his puffy cheeks red with fury as he stomped his foot, denting the wood enough to crack it. Antonio blinked in surprise at the damage, eventually coming to the conclusion that the plank must be rotted or something as he waved off the younger nation's retorts.

"It doesn't matter want you want. Don't you understand how this works? You are mine now and have to do what I say. Didn't England teach you anything?", Antonio said sadly. Alfred just glared back at him defiantly, crossing his slender arms in a huff. Antonio shook his head. He had been hoping to avoid this unpleasantness.

"You will love it in my lands and will meet my little Lovi there as well.", Antonio started to coo, his thoughts wandering to his own angry little Italian.

"I'm not and I won't. England will come for me.", Alfred stated firmly, his lips pressed together in a serious harsh line.

"England won't even know you are gone and by the time he does, it will be far to late chico.", Antonio yawned, leaning over to drawn the little one to his side.

"He'll come for me.", Alfred told him again with a glare as he evaded the grasp, his blue gaze never wavering from the horizon

"He won't. You might as well accept that now, the sooner the better.", Antonio sighed, shaking his head at him.

"He will…..I just know he will.", Alfred whispered, to himself as much as to Spain, tears starting to roll down his cheeks to drop into the ocean.

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Arthur boarded his ship, his head thick with emotions and his heart sick with guilt and worry. If he had just come back a little sooner, made some greater effort….was it truly that difficult for him…wasn't America worth that much of his time and attention? Arthur made his way to his quarters, ignoring all who crossed his path or called out to him. He locked them all out to lean against the door heavily, suddenly exhausted as he slid down to a crouch, drawing his knees tightly to his lean chest. How could he have let this happen? He had failed America both as his brother and as his protector.

Arthur slapped his face hard, wincing from it. "Get a hold of yourself, you daft old man. Now is not the time. The question you should be asking yourself is how are you going to fix it?", Arthur asked himself sternly, already knowing the answer deep down inside, like an ember catching new life. He got up abruptly, moving with new purpose now toward his old storage chest, hidden out of sight and out of mind behind some loose paneling. He pulled it out now, to unpack it's contents carefully, almost reverently. A flag was unfolded marked with a crest bearing a rearing lion and unicorn on either side of a crimson rose with a burning crown floating above it's full head. A long red coat made of thick damask with heavy gold buttons and accents was laid out. Two lock and flint pistols heavy with scrollwork on the handles and a well balanced cutlass with leather scabbard were carefully inspected. A sash of rich emerald satin with beaded fringe unfurled to his feet. A tricorn hat, decorated with rich full white plumes was set carefully to the side. The last item removed was black leather pouch, tightly sealed with strange symbols etched into the leather.

Arthur wrapped the emerald sash around his slender hips and waist.

"I will find him."

He removed his dull functional black coat to replace it with one of crimson and sparkling gold, adjusting the cuffs of it.

"I will get him back."

Arthur checked the weapons thoroughly again, loading them, arming himself to the teeth as the guns were tucked into the sash and the cutlass strapped to his side by a wide leather belt buckled low on his hips. A various small knives were further hidden on his person.

"I will make them pay."

He placed the tricorn hat solemnly on his fair head, tilting it at a rakish angle.

"I will take everything from him."

The door floor open to a solid kick, the crewmen jumping back as their captain reappeared, looking a bit…different in more ways that some.

"I want this wreck ready to sail with in the hour, ye sea dogs!", Captain Kirkland yelled, throwing his flag to the bowman. "Make yourself useful and raise that. Await my return and be ready for anything.", Arthur snapped, taking a rope to smoothly swing himself down to the dock. The remaining townspeople drew back in a fright from the nation who ignored them entirely in favor of walking down the pebbly beach until the ship and town were out of sight. Taking off his boots and rolling up his black knee breeches, Arthur waded out into the surf until it was knee high. He took out the leather pouch, breaking the protective seal on it with a strange muttered word of power. Two pearls fell out of it into the palm of his hand, one inky black with a dull sickly gleam to it, the other snowy white with a sparkle to its shimmering perfection. Arthur let the pearls fall from his slender fingers into the brine and waited, staring off into the distance. He did not have to stand there long as two head suddenly broke the surface of the sea, stopping a short distance from him.

The first to appear was unearthly beautiful, obviously female with wide full lips, skin pale as the moon, and long silky hair as red as the blood she so loved to spill. Her eyes were what was truly frightening about her though. They were black on black on black, like orbs of obsidian-cold, fathomless and cruel. Arthur knew without seeing it that her lower half would be a long silvery tail and fingers tipped with barbed hooks.

The other was truly a fiend from the depths, a mound of fleshy tentacles that moved continuously in shades of putrid blues and purples. The flesh coiled and unfurled toward Arthur so he could see hundreds of little sucker pads that puckered at him, all lined with little sharp teeth. Yellow eyes that looked horribly human gazed at him with bared contained fury. A black mark was set between the horror eyes, its true meaning only known to a few.

"You summoned me, o king?", the siren sang, her voice like bittersweet honey that hides the poison so well as if slips into the soul.

"You have finally called to release me from my debt?", the kraken growled, his tentacles encircling Arthur but were very careful not to touch him. "Obviously ye divvy prats. Do my bidding and ye shall go free. Hinder me in any way, and ye shall suffer greatly for it.", Arthur smiled tauntingly, as he pointedly ignored the idle threat floating about him. The two beings bowed their head as they awaited their orders.

"Kraken, the Spaniard sails to the south. Find him for me. Stop his ship but do not harm it in any way. He carries something precious to me and if it is harmed due to your actions, no amount of favors with clear your debt with me. Complete this task and I will remove my mark from ye. Now go!", Arthur told him to swirl of rapidly departing tentacles.

"Siren, I need a wave and a wind to carry me to the one I seek. I need English ships to my beck and call. Find them, send them to me posthaste. Get me and mine to the Spaniard and I will return your comb to ye. Fail me and I will shatter it.", Arthur promised her with a chilling grin, the survival of the source of her power hanging on his whim alone.

It would frighten people how many of the story about Captain Kirkland and the Bloody Rose were actually true, but all great tales have some grain of truth to them.

Arthur returned to Bloody Rose quickly, moving to the bow of the ship to stand behind the weeping angel figure head, one hand firmly holding onto a rope, the other holding a telescope in hand. He could hear men moving frantically behind him.

"Captain! Captain Kirkland!"

"Calm yourself lads! Unfurl the sails. We are leaving. Now.", Arthur ordered, not bothering to look back as his ship was picked up to float on top of a towering wall of water that swept across the sea like the hand of Poseidon himself.

"Be ready! We will be with the Spaniard soon and there…..there will be a reckoning, mark me words boyos!"


	4. Chapter 4

"Captain! Captain!"

Antonio lifted his sleepy head, trying to process the voices that called frantically through his door as his men pounded on it a vigorous tempo. The weary Spaniard saw that Alfred was already gone, and probably had been since first light. The little nation had taken a position at the stern, leaning against the railing, his too blue eyes always glued to the horizon from dawn till dusk. If Antonio would have let him, he would taken his meals and slept there as well. The little nation's body had burned cherry red from his constant vigil. To Antonio's surprise he had not cried or complained even when the sun blisters broke and wept clear sticky liquid. After a week a peeling though, his skin turned a glowing golden brown color, forever losing his childish paleness. Antonio liked it though, it being so much closer to his own skin tones as he felt his claim strengthening on the boy already. He had tried talking to him several more times, but after a few failed communications decided to leave the little one to his one devices, under close eye of course. It was discovered Alfred could not swim one unfortunate day when the sea had been particularly windy, sending the little nation flying over the railing, to belly flop into the ocean and sink like a stone. Despite the gravity of the situation it convinced Alfred not to attempt any escape attempts and affirmed Antonio's thoughts on the security of the younger nation's floating prison.

Alfred continued to resist in his own little ways though. Refusing to speak to anyone was the most obvious. The only time he did talk was to complain about the food, claiming loudly that England's was far better. Antonio was beginning to think the continuous sun exposure was driving Alfred mad. Antonio also made Alfred sleep in the same bed as him though he would curl up as far away as he could into a tight ball, refusing any contact. Antonio, though disappointed, was quite used to it. He was just relieved that Alfred refrained from head butting him, like a certain angry little Italian.

"Captain! Come quick!"

"Dios mio! Que es? Que esta pasando?", Antonia groaned as he finally finished dressing himself, to fling open the door. It was then in that moment, he realized that something was extremely wrong. Though the sails were full and billowing, the galleon was not moving. His men's eyes were ringed white with terror as they practically dragged their nation to the edge of the railing to point downward. Antonio paled as he white knuckled the wood, gasping. Thick tendrils of seaweed coiled up and around the base of the vessel and right before Antonio's very eyes it was still growing. Seeking tendrils in shades of yellow and green worked their way up the side of the ship, feeling the planks like blind men's fingers for any sort of hold, nook, or cranny to hold. "What are you doing just standing there cabrons! Cut it away! Get it off the ship!", Antonio yelled, drawing his own blade to attack it.

"Captain…we have tried….we have been cutting at it for hours….it just keeps growing back.", the bowman mumbled, watching the greenery continue upward. Antonio stared back in horror at him, a sinking feeling beginning its descent downward. It was hastened by peals of bright childish laugher. Alfred looked back at him with a wide grin as he stroked tendrils wrapped themselves securely around the railing.

"I told you he would come for me.", Alfred said sweetly as he watched the ship being overrun unperturbed.

"Oh you think so chico.", Antonio snarled, grabbing the small nation roughly by the arm to drag him downward to the bowels of the ship. He snapped orders to his men as he went, his mind racing. They still had time. St Augustine was only a day away.

"Free a life boat and get to the fort! Bring reinforcements! Hell, bring everybody!", Antonio yelled.

"Captain….should we bring…him?", the first mate ventured. Antonio chewed his bottom lip in irritated thought. If they brought America to the fort, he would be better protected. On the other hand, if the nation was allowed to set foot on his own soil, he would disappear the first chance he got and then only god himself would be able to find him.

"No…leave him here. You have your orders! Vamos!", Antonio snapped coming to an abrupt stop the pair reached their destination, the brig. "Now you will see how captured nations are treated. Maybe if you are good, I will let you back up into the light. Until then, the dark will keep you company.", Antonia said bitterly as he place chains on Alfred's slender ankles and wrists, the little country whimpering softly now. Antonia took the candle with him, locking the door behind him to Alfred's frightened screams.

"Lo siento.", Antonio whispered, hanging his head.

Antonia emerged onto the deck to find the previous clear skies, darkened with black clouds moving in from the north, the thunderheads swirling angrily overhead in odd formations. The worst concentration of them was at the stern. Antonio took over Alfred's former position staring off into the distance.

"Telescope! I need a telescope now!", he called back. Antonio looked through it to see a horrifying sight. Coming toward his galleon on towering waves were ships, dozens of ships all flying English colors. Merchant vessels, military ships, and privateers, all were riding toward him on fast watery steeds. The most prominent and recognizable though was a small ship made all of polished black wood, leading the odd armada. Adjusting the sight on the telescope to its utmost abilities, Antonia could make out a lone figure riding on the shoulders of the lead ship's figure head, a weeping angel figure head. A slender figure who wore red and gold proudly as any king, though his crown was made of leather and white plumes as light flashed off the sword in the pirate's hand, his scepter of choice. Antonio let the telescope fall from his lifeless hands, his heart sinking into his frozen gut as death sailed toward them on swift wings.

"Dois mio…what have I done…..we are all dead….", Antonio whispered, covering his face with trembling fingers. He had to think quickly or all of them would be sucking down sea water very soon. The ones who didn't make it to the Deep this day would sorely wish that they had.

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The ships sailed on their waves that slowly decreased as they approached their target so that the vessels could resume normal sailing, surrounding the Spanish galleon. Antonio watched them in a cold sweat, circle his ship, realizing the only reason for the lack of canon fire was due to Alfred's potential presence on the ship. Arthur stood the shoulders of his angel, brandishing his cutlass, a evil glint in his emerald eyes, and a wide feral grin on his lips. "Give it 'em up ye Spanish bastard! I will end ye if ye do not! I have ye surrounded. Ye have no where to go", he roared, hanging from the ropes.

"Parley!"

Arthur stared in horror as a white flag was run up the mast. A stream of fluid curses flew from the pirates lips, cursing the French mostly. "Ye gutless scallywag! Come abroad and talk ye terms!", Arthur snapped, glaring at Antonio with hate filled eyes. Antonio swung abroad gracefully, unarmed, opening his arms and hands wide to prove this point, turning slowly around in a circle.

"Hola amigo.", Antonio purred, licking his lips nervously.

"Cut the crap. Where be America? Don't think I have missed that one of ye life boats is missing?", Arthur growled, pacing his discontent in front of his foe.

"Temper, temper…..calm yourself. If you want the whereabouts of your little one, all you have to do it agree to everything I have to say, and maybe, just maybe, for you amigo, I will return him to you mostly whole and unharmed.", Antonio said cloyingly sweet.

"What do ye mean maybe?", Arthur said in a low intense voice.

"Well, he has been such a feisty little nation. You should have taught him some better manners like listened to his elders and doing as he is told before punishment.", Antonio said offhandedly, playing his poor cards well, waiting for Arthur to fold as the other nation grew still, hanging his fair head low. Antonio realized too late that he had overplayed his bluff when fiery emerald eyes looked up in fury at him.

"Ye be a dead man!", growled Arthur, drawing his sword the sound of which echoed numerous times.

"We are in parley. You can not harm me by the terms of the code.", Antonio reminded him quickly casting nervous glances about him.

"Hang the code. It only applies to pirates anyway and last time I checked you were a conquistador. Besides you blind arse, I am a gentleman.", Arthur snarled, moving forward menacingly. Antonio shrugged, snapping his fingers loudly. A member of his crew quickly threw a pole axe as a spear to be caught by the Spaniard's waiting hand.

"So let us end this discussion as gentlemen.", Antonio smiled as he quipped his weapon around to be expertly paired by the gentleman pirate.

"Aye. Let's"

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Alfred was left alone in the dark, his screams his only company. He stopped when he realized all he was accomplishing was hurting his own ears. Alfred whimpered to himself, his own treacherous mind remembering every ghost story England had ever told him in vivid detail. Strange noises coming from somewhere above him, caught his attention as sharp jagged sounds of metal screaming against metal, of shots fired, and of men yelling out their final words reached his ears.

"England!", Arthur gasped, struggling to get up despite his bonds. He had to get out of here. The young nation started to flex and pull at his chains which groaned painfully as they were pulled and twisted apart by inhuman strength. Alfred stretched the metal like taffy until it snapped noisily, dropping away from him. He felt at the door, determining that is was just made mostly of wood. Normally he would never even consider this, would get in trouble for breaking things, but he thought England would forgive his this one time. It was technically Spain's door anyway. Backing as far away from it as possible, Alfred imitated his beloved buffalo, scraping his feet back in anticipation as he made himself ready. He bolted forward, slamming his shoulder against the door with all his mini might. The wood splintered outward under the sudden impact, leaving a very nice Alfred shaped hole in its demise.

The nation picked himself up from the remains of the door, running up on deck to find people fighting all around him. Most of them, he didn't recognize until he caught sight of the Rose. Weaving and dodging through the fray, his eyes locked on the black ship he had heard so much about. Alfred precariously balanced on the edge of the railing to see Antonio and Arthur locked in mortal combat. Antonio wielding his long handled axe with skill and flair, his attacks were parried smoothly blow for blow by Arthur's double wielding prowess, a cutlass in one hand and a knife in the other, as the pair danced their deadly courtship. Alfred stared openly at Arthur as the rest of the world faded away from sight and sound. His normally serious keeper was dressed as he had never seen him before, all in bright colors and odd bits of finery, a strange vibrant expression on his face. It was beautiful to Alfred, his movements, his fluid grace of form and step, the effortless ease he toyed with Antonio. Alfred was frozen to his perch, enamored with this sight before him. He failed to notice the ships shifting though, a merchant vessel in particular slamming into the side of the galleon. It did minimal damage to the structure itself but sent Alfred flying into the drink.

"ENGLAND!"

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Arthur heard his name screamed, turned around just in time to see Alfred…..falling. The moment froze perfectly in his mind's eye noting the look of terror etched on the younger nation's face, that the falling figure was taller and more gangly than previously remembered though the eyes were just as blue and hair just as fair. All this was processed by the time America hit the water. Antonio stared at the open space that had once been occupied by his English counterpart.

Arthur's feet barely touched the deck as his sword was cast somewhere, and his coat and hat went flying off in opposite direction. His slender form flew in a graceful arc as Arthur leaped off of the Rose diving into the water after his colony.

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The world beneath the wave was all in shades of turquoise, aqua, rare blues, and hidden greens, fading to darker purples and violets as Alfred sank further into the deep, the world above a fractured illusion filled with shafts of light and blurs of mad color. Alfred struggled against substance that gave him no purchase, only managing to flip himself over and over again until he lost all sense of direction. His lungs started to burn painfully for air as he clawed upward. His mouth gave up precious glittering orbs of spent breathe, mouthing silent screams. Alfred watched them float gracefully up toward that surreal shimmering ceiling with failing vision as the world around him faded to blackness.

"…..England….."

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Arthur looked with salt stinged eyes frantically back and forth in the blue world, swimming deeper, cutting through the water like a blade as he pushed himself deeper. After what seemed a lifetime, he finally saw America off in the distance floated in a perfect shaft of glowing light. It illuminated his darker skin of perfect features to a golden sheen, while giving fire to his hair, making it shine brighter than precious metals as it floated airily around him. His clothing floated about him like vestments, furling and unfurling rhythmically, his oversized white shirt could have been mistaken for a pair of wings as his slender fragile form hung ethereal, framed by intense blue so pure and still.

Arthur was struck motionless by this until a small silver bubble slipped from pale frozen lips. Arthur snapped forward, moving recklessly, muscles starting to burn reminding him of his own need to breathe. His rescue was cut short as a silvery being wrapped itself around America, curling bodily against the child. Red hair floated like a mist of fresh blood, surrounding a pale face as beautiful as the moon and as cold. The mermaid grinned ruefully at Arthur, her needle sharp teeth glistening in the shifting light, her barbed fingers drawing nearer to tender flesh. Arthur fumbled at his side pocket to produce a comb made of a white carved shell, plain and smooth. The mermaid's obsidian eyes grew wide at the sight of it. Arthur let it drop from his fingers, the comb spiraling in lazy circles downward. The mermaid streamed forward, ignoring the pair entirely now in favor of her long lost prize. Arthur swam quickly to America, grabbing him by the collar to pull him up to the light, break the surface gasping at sweet air.

"Breathe Alfred, Breathe for me love.", Arthur chanted desperately, tilting America's head as he awkwardly backstroked them both to the Rose. They were pulled up on broad immediately by the waiting crew, having subdued the Spaniard during the rescue. America was still not breathing though. Arthur started to panic as he placed his wind burned lips to America's soft plaint ones to push his own breath into his lungs.

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Alfred's eyes flew open to stare into emerald eyes, the finest he had ever seen. He became sharply aware of rough lips firmly upon his own and slender strong fingers holding his jaw open. The moment burned into his brain as it was ruined in the next when Alfred began to forcefully expel sea water, turning over onto his side to return the part of the ocean he had managed to swallow back to it.

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Arthur fell back relieved as America drew in ragged raspy breathes. He patted his colony's back, gently rubbing soothing circles into it until the smaller nation calmed down enough to breath normally. Noticing his scarlet coat nearby, Arthur retrieved it to cover America.

"Captain, the ship is ours and the prisoners have all been subdued.", the first mate reported interrupting Arthur's tender administrations.

"Excellent.", Arthur grinned widely, his bloodlust for revenge reawakened.

"Bring him here.", Arthur growled, standing up as his hat and cutlass were returned to him posthaste. Antonio was brought roughly forward, looking a little worse for wear as he was made to kneel at Arthur's feet. The pirate made him look up with the tip of his boot placed under the Spaniard's chin.

"Now me dear Antonio, we will see how much ye royalty is willing to pay for ye safe return and maybe, just maybe, for you my fond friend, I will return you unharmed and mostly whole…but I doubt it….especially after I return with you to England in chains so you can enjoy a stay in the Tower.", Arthur scoffed as the Spaniard paled noticeably.

"NO!"

Arthur looked up in surprise at the sudden outburst as a small form latched itself around his waist. "NO!", America screamed, his voice shrill with panic.

"Calm ye…yourself lad! What is it?", Arthur asked confused and a little put out as he made an effort to speak properly.

"You can't…you just got back from England! Not now!", America cried rather unintelligibly, burrowing his head almost painfully into Arthur's lean chest. Arthur ripped his colony away from him, shoving him back as he regarded him coldly.

"You insolent whelp! Do you have any idea what is going on in that thick head of yours? This nation kidnapped you, and wasted my time and many precious favors. Do you realize that I have turned the world upside down and I have done it all for you! Do you have anything to say for all this?", Arthur yelled at America, who looked down at his hands, tears dripping off of his cheeks like falling shards of crystal. "Well what!? What do you have to say for yourself? For all this bloody troubl…..", Arthur started to launch into another rant.

"I love you."

Arthur stopped, mid sentence to stare down at the trembling form of the smaller nation, his lovely too blue eyes turned upward now, accented by glittering, dew like tears. "I love you.", Alfred whispered just as quiet as before.

"Please don't go back…..not yet….not after all this time….Please…I swear I'll be good…..I'm sorry…..I'm so sorry….just don't go….I've missed you so much…..please Engl…..Arthur….please….I love you…..", America pleading softly, looking up hesitantly into his keeper's face. The smaller nation edged forward tentatively until he could wrap his arms around a slender waist again, crying softly into it, still begging silently, mouthing the words against soaked skin. Gently hands gripped him tightly back as Arthur buried his face into strands of still damp satiny hair, rocking them both gently. Arthur bent down to pick up America in his arms bridal style, pressing him close to him as he turned to leave.

"Captain?" came the hesitant call.

"Tie the Spaniard and his crew to their main mast and leave them be. Strip the ship of anything of worth as well. We are leaving.", Arthur said tiredly, barely pausing in his retreat.

"But Captain…"

"Are you questioning my orders?", Arthur turned fully around to stare down all the men present, his eyes glittering with promised extreme and very bloody violence for the next man who hindered him again.

"No Captain. Very good Captain."

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"So how long is it going to take to get home?", Alfred yawned, kicking his feet idly at he watched England sew.

"Sweet bleeding hell, for the last time, about a week.", Arthur groaned as he completed his task. Alfred had no clothes and noone on the ship wore his size, so England was currently in process of alternating some of his old wardrobe into suitable garments for him. Alfred particularly like the blue coat, drawn to its rich color. Arthur chewed the end of the thread above the knot, cutting it neatly as he shook the garment out, appraising his own handiwork approvingly.

"Alright, time for bed.", England stated firmly, folding the shirt neatly as he rose from the bed. Alfred moaned dramatically, dragging his feet like a condemned man, crawling into the bad reluctantly. Arthur bent over him to press his lips to a tanned forehead.

"Sweet dreams, love. I will be to bed soon.", England said softly, brushing Alfred's stubborn ahoge out of his face. Alfred wiggled until he was comfortably, watching England leave through half lidded eyes. When he was alone, his finger strayed first to his forehead then to his lips, caressing the outline of them, remembering the feel of wind burned lips upon them, rough but soft as well, all at the same time. The scent of rain and strange earth lingered in the air as Alfred fell asleep, confusing thoughts and wants muddling his heart and head.

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Arthur walked over to the figure head of the weeping angel, leaning over to caress her fair faded cheek. A voice below him drew his attention downward but did not surprise him at sharp yellow eyes glared at him. "You did well. Do you really want it off though?", Arthur said softly.

"Too long I have lived with this curse, trapped in a tomb that has no sound.", the kraken croaked back, using his slimy appendages to draw himself up the side of the ship, nearer to the nation.

"You will die you know without it.", Arthur reminded him gently.

"Perhaps it is about time. I have wanted to rest for so long. I am so tired.", the kraken said sadly.

"Then rest dear one. I forgive your betrayal. May you find Fiddler's Green, Grinning Jack.", Arthur murmured, passing his fingers along the mark, the black sigil fading from existence as the putrid flesh fell away to briefly reveal a man as he fell back into the ocean, dead before he hit the water. Arthur sighed to himself, hopping back onto the deck. He longed to rest as well, though not as permanently, in the arms of the one he loved most above all.


End file.
